


Ylissean Peace

by newmrsdewinter



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, KISS KISS FALL IN CHROM, Mild Language, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5030548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newmrsdewinter/pseuds/newmrsdewinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepherdly shenanigans that ensue immediately after Gangrel's defeat.  Also what happens if Chrobin S-Support isn't reached by Chapter 11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Latent Nausea

**Author's Note:**

> tw for minor gore at the beginning

 

 

Death stung like the metallic tang of steel, but it felt right. Stifling heat assaulted Robin's senses as she finally came too and she coughed, wiping away the grime clouding her vision. If she was in hell, it was awfully sandy and extremely heavy.

The hulking body of a dead Plegian soldier pinned her to the ground and under her half-empty quiver. To her absolute horror, one of her arrows was lodged at the base of his neck, the wooden shaft protruding right under his ear. It left a ghastly trail of blood down his split chest and the cracked plate of his pauldron. With a faint whimper, she shoved the body off her midsection and crawled across the plain, straining her ears for any sounds of battle.

Nothing. It was silent, eerily so. A sickly, yellow haze clouded across the battlefield, coating the bodies littering the ground with powdery dust like sugar cookies.

A small trail of blood trickled down her shoulder, staining her leather armor rusty with crimson. She wiped her sticky hands on her shirt, blinking the dust out of her eyes. No wonder she was so dizzy. 

“There she is!” A sharp cry jolted her out of her reverie. Out of instinct, she reached for one of the daggers girded to her shoulder, but slumped with relief when she saw Lissa and Maribelle rushing towards her, staves ready at hand.

“Really, darling, playing dead is such a dreadful habit for a woman –" Maribelle began to speak, but she was quickly drowned out Lissa’s tearful hysterics.

“We thought you were dead! Frederick found your bow, but you were nowhere in sight!” she cried, fingers trembling as she pressed a clean bandage to Robin’s shoulder. “Gods, Chrom was in such a panic, he nearly tore apart the field looking for you!”

Robin wasn’t paying attention. “Did the plan work?” she asked hoarsely, pushing herself up into a sitting position. “Is my bow broken?” 

Maribelle sniffed distastefully. “ _That’s_  what you’re worried about?” Green wisps of healing magic curled around Robin’s midsection and she felt her body tingle with revitalization. It didn’t relieve the pain, but it was much better than dying alone on the battlefield.

“Well, Frederick sent out the signal for all the mages to use Elfire at the last minute and had all the Plegians surrounded, if that's what you're wondering,” said Lissa, now rummaging through her satchel for an elixir. “Oh dear, now where did I put that syringe…?”

“Gangrel is dead,” reported Maribelle. “Chrom, Lon’qu, and Cordelia cornered him in one of the forts and landed the final blow. I suppose that gambit was due to your careful planning, wasn’t it? Well, you don't seem entirely useless.” Despite the barb, Maribelle couldn't conceal the hint of pride in her voice.

The idea of stringing words into coherent sentences was beyond Robin’s capabilities at that point, so she decided to be cheeky. “Is that praise coming from you, Maribelle?” she asked in a flat, distant voice. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Don't get used to it, darling. Now, if you would only  _keep still!”_  said Maribelle sharply, brushing her hair out of her eyes. The only indication that she even participated in the battle were the small wisps of hair escaping her perfectly set curls.

“I’m sorry,” said Robin politely. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“Robin!” Chrom’s booming voice rang in the field, drawing their attention. He rushed to her side and kneeled, sucking in a sharp gasp at the nasty gash on her shoulder. Little remained of his once-pristine ivory cape. The tatters that remained billowed in the breeze, fraying stiff at the ends with blood from the battlefield. “Oh, gods…”

“She’s fine, Chrom!” said Lissa reproachfully. “See? I told you we’d find her!”

Maribelle pinched her lips in a tight line, tempted to remind Lissa of her hysterics moments before. She decided to be merciful and say nothing.

“Gods, Robin…” said Chrom weakly. “You gave us all such a scare, just disappearing like that…”

Before Lissa could make a comment, a few soldiers hurried towards them with a cloth gurney and a frantic Libra in tow.

“Well, in you go, darling! I daresay Libra will do a much better job of healing you than the sorry job Lissa made of your shoulder.”

“Hey, I did what I could!” said Lissa indignantly. She pouted. “My hands’re just shaky ‘cause –“

“Take a vulnerary, dear,” said Maribelle soothingly, patting her on her back. “It’s been a long day….”

“Libra, will she be alright? Is it serious?” Chrom asked immediately, rising to meet the priest.

“Half a moment, sire,” said Libra with the patience of a saint and he set his tools on the ground. He tested her ankle with gentle hands and nodded. “Sprained, as I suspected. She’ll live, but the wound on her shoulder is rather serious.” Libra took out a phial of elixir and tipped it to her lips. Wrinkling her nose, Maribelle handed him a rag heavy with alcohol and he pressed it to the open wound on Robin's shoulder.

"I'm afraid this will hurt..." he said apologetically, motioning at Chrom and Lissa to take her hands.

Robin gave a low hiss of pain and thrashed against the gurney, trying to contain the tears threatening to seep from her tightly-squeezed eyes. The pain seemed inconsequential before help arrived and now that she was safe from harm's way, it was unbearable. By all accounts, she was lucky to be alive.

"Hey, it's going to be okay," said Chrom, his voice reaching a shrill pitch. "It's just a shallow graze of an axe, you're going to survive -"

Drowsy, Robin tuned out his words, half-lidded eyes scanning the field for any familiar faces among the dead. Only the shattered skulls of Plegian head armor assaulted her line of vision and she wasn't sure she should take that as a blessing or an omen.

“Milady, could you stand?” Libra helped her to her feet and she teetered to regain her balance on Chrom’s shoulder, steadying herself on the ground.

“Are you okay?” he asked concernedly. “Let’s get her a crutch, or wait – you can stand on Falchion.” In his panic, he unsheathed his sword in a wide arc, just barely skimming the hem of Libra's robes. He ignored Maribelle’s cry of outrage as he handed it to Robin.

“Oh, Chrom! She’s not a baby,” said Lissa, hiding a smile behind her hand. “C'mon, it could've been a lot worse!”

“Sorry,” he said, blushing profusely. “But I must insist –“

“I’m fine, Chrom,” said Robin softly, speaking for herself for the first time. She dusted the front of her shirt and rubbed the exhaustion from her eyes. The weight of her weariness burned at the base of her neck, but she wasn’t ready to give into her fatigue, not yet.

“No, you’re not,” he said bluntly. “Gods, you were buried underneath a dead Plegian –“

“Don’t remind me,” she muttered, clutching her churning stomach. The gross image of her arrow lodged in the Plegian’s throat would be seared in her memory forever. Loosing arrows from a distance was tolerable, but gore at close range never failed to twist her guts in a knot. It didn't help that she assigned Sully and Vaike to mess duty that morning. Libra pressed a hand to her forehead, tsk'ing quietly as he pulled another vulnerary from his robes.

“Is that better, milady?” he asked kindly. "Some ginger tea, perhaps, when we reach the infirmary. I believe Sir Stahl has some reserved for such occasions..."

“Ah, yes, thank you, padre,” said Robin, trying and failing to worm herself out of Chrom’s vice-like grasp. “Chrom, lay off! I’m not dead, you know.”

“I thought you were,” said Chrom weakly. “I couldn’t do anything to save Emm and –“

Robin winced. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you quite finished yet?” asked Maribelle archly. She placed both hands on her hips and tapped her foot in an elaborate display of impatience. “Lissa and I have other patients to attend to, you know. We can’t just stand around here waiting as you two keep  _flirting_  –“

Chrom held his hands up in a gesture of exaggerated innocence. “I’m not flirting with her -!”

“Of course not,” said Maribelle airily, clearly unconvinced. Lissa snickered. They walked away without a second glance, daintily picking their way over the bodies strewn in their path towards the tents.

"I think I can walk," said Robin unsurely, testing her ankle on the ground. 

"You're joking, right?" In the end, not much coaxing was needed on his part to convince her to lie on the gurney. He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Please, if anything, it'd rest my mind at ease. 

She nodded more out of exhaustion than compliance, knowing full-well that under normal circumstances, she would have put up a fight about it with Chrom for the sake of having an argument. The foot soldiers took up the wooden handles on either end of the gurney and heaved her across the battlefield towards the medical tents before the fort. Libra jogged alongside her, murmuring small incantations under his breath as his staff wove its healing magic through her body. 

Out of some sick impulse, Chrom couldn't tear his eyes away from the gash on her shoulder, the way her arm bent at an odd angle to keep her sling in place. A couple inches deeper and she would have lost it completely. It would have been yet anther notch on his ever-growing list of failures he racked up since the beginning of the war. 

"You did it again," she murmured, her voice laced with a mild accusation. She shifted her weight so she wouldn't fall to the ground. 

"Did what?" 

"Found me. On a field. Only this time, I was surrounded by dead people instead of flowers." 

Chrom chuckled softly. For the first time in weeks, some of the tension lifted from his shoulders as he realized that the war had finally come to an end. After all, everything had come full circle. "Well, don't make a habit of it." 

 

* * *

 

Once they reached the infirmary, gentle hands transferred Robin to an empty bedroll at the edge of the tent, granting her a full view of all the injured Shepherds stitching each other up. Her head lolled to the side once it hit the pallet, a small trail of drool trickling from her open mouth. Donnel cried out in shock when he saw her prone on the floor and Sumia nearly stumbled over Vaike's helmet, adding another layer of chaos none of them really needed.

“She's not dead!" said Chrom loudly. "She's just exhausted." The tension in the tent lifted immediately as everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

"Where's Kellam?" asked Robin faintly. "Did anyone find him? How's the convoy? Where did Frederick put my bow?”  

Libra pushed a cold mug of tea into Robin's hands and placed a damp towel on her forehead, effectively shushing her. "Milady, it is essential that you find rest now that you're safe."

Gaius sidled over and tossed Robin a lollipop. “Here, you need some sugar in your tank after all that bloodshed. It’s a wonder you didn’t pass out like Munchies over there.” He jerked a thumb at Stahl, whose skin was mottled a deep red from his burns. He nearly had a heat stroke from fighting in his armor in the scorching desert. Cordelia fed him ice cubes and pressed a moist towel to his forehead to bring his temperature down. "Y'know, it's probably 'cause he didn't have second breakfast or something." 

Repressing a shudder, Robin accepted the candy and nearly gagged at the taste. “Did you take roll call? No one’s –“

“No, just you,” said Chrom hurriedly. “Kellam and Lon’qu are in the next tent, if you’re wondering.”

“Thank goodness,” said Robin, sinking her head into her pillow. From what she remembered, the battle was brief. Most of the soldiers laid their weapons down to retreat once they heard the Ylisseans were coming and those who stayed to fight didn't have the numbers to solidify a victory. It felt almost dishonorable waging a battle against men facing certainty of defeat.

But she didn't have time to dwell on this further; Chrom strode towards her with a wide grin and he placed her bow next to her pillow, a comforting presence that relieved the unease coiling in her gut.

“What’s that?” she asked curiously, pointing at a velvet satchel sticking out of his pocket.

Chrom nearly jumped a foot in the air. “Huh? My pocket? Is there something wrong with my armor?” He fussed with his plates and she pointed at his trousers.

“There! That velvet pouch. What’s in it?”

“Oh,  _that_  pouch.” He tried not to look too relieved, taking it out and untying the knot. Inside was finely milled powder, tinted sky blue. “Apparently, it’s spirit dust. It’s supposed to boost magic, so I was thinking of giving it to Miriel or Ricken.”

“Nearly cost me an arm to filch it off the dead Plegian,” added Gaius unnecessarily, air-quoting ‘dead’ for emphasis. “Bastard was still twitching when I took it from his vest. Scared the living shit out of me."

Spoils of war, then. Robin pinched the powder with her fingers, marveling at the way it glinted in the lamplight. “It’s beautiful.”

“Well, you’re beautiful,” muttered Chrom unintentionally as he pocketed it. Gaius snorted over his chocolate and arched a lewd brow at Robin.

“Huh? Chrom, did you say something?”

“Oh! Well, I mean – of course you’re beautiful, but not right this second. Right now, you look like total shit. Wait, that’s definitely not what I meant –“

Flustered, Chrom ran a hand through his hair and flushed beet red from head to toe. Steam practically seeped from his ears as he avoided her dazed expression, unsure how to proceed.

Gaius nearly keeled over in laughter, but when he caught the murderous glint in Chrom’s eye, he disguised it as a loud cough.

Before Robin could think to be offended, Frederick stuck his head through the flap of the tent. “Milord, the Khans have arrived and they’re keen to speak to you.” He eyed Robin with veiled interest, but he couldn’t hide the relief written all over his face.

Chrom saw an opportunity to leave with his shattered pride and seized it, tail tucked firmly between his legs. “I don’t want to see you out there until you’ve finished your tea. Libra will ensure that you do.” He gave Libra a curt nod, a silent command.

Once he was out of earshot, Robin turned to Gaius. “Is it bad?” She peered up at him through triple chins and a face streaked with Plegian grime. Even her hair was a mess; it flew askew in all directions, her bangs sticking up in small tufts in a halo around her forehead.

“You have no idea, Bubbles,” he said cheerfully. He handed her a pitcher so she could take a look at her reflection, which caused her to elicit an unholy shriek of terror. "You look regurgitated wyvern breakfast. Y'know, according to Sumia, that's not actually a bad thing -"

“I look like a swamp monster,” she wailed, smoothing her hair into place. “Oh, gods…”

“A beautiful swamp monster,” reminded Gaius. “That’s what Blue said. A beautiful, bleeding –“

“Why me?” she wondered aloud. “Why is it always me?”

“You'd think Blue'd be cheery after winning a war,” commented Gaius. “He just compared you to a walking, talking, piece of shit. Such a kind, sweet-tempered young man.” He took a bite of an apple with an audible crunch, ignoring the irritated glares from everyone else in the tent. “I took him out to town a couple days ago and - hey, Bubbles, you doin' okay?”

But she wasn't listening. A trembling hand was pressed to white lips and she was rather pale. "My stomach feels gloopy."

"Oh, no -"

Robin flipped to her side like a dead fish and vomited the empty contents of her stomach. She promptly proceeded to pass out, much to Libra's panic and Gaius's disgust. He wasn't sure if it was her own appearance or her time out in the battlefield that made her nauseous, but he knew with absolute certainty that it smelled horrendous.

"Well, there goes my appetite," said Gaius absently. He nudged an unconscious Olivia with his foot, who twitched in surprise as she came to. Once her nose caught the sour stench of bile, she began to dry-heave. "Want my apple? Look, it's not mushy in the middle and there's no worms -"

At that moment, several pairs of hands shoved Gaius out of the tent and ignored his shouted protests. "Okay, okay, I got it! Geez, you don't have to push so hard..." Gaius rubbed his backside and pouted, slinking back into the shadows as he tried to find a nice, shady spot to take a nap.

 

 


	2. Not-so Numb Tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which i am eternally salty that sumia gets an animated cutscene after ch11 and the rest of Chrom's s-supports don't o___o

 

Robin knew in her heart of hearts how this battle would end. It wasn't foresight, but bone-deep intuition.

The Dragon's Table was a monumental tower nestled at the foot of a flat desert valley. Large marble blocks fitted the vast walls lining the stone rotunda and a single beam of light illuminated the space cordoned off by a white-blue barrier.

Chrom wrangled a losing battle near a stone table. In his right hand, Falchion sparked and crackled with purple bolts of dark magic from the wizard outmaneuvering him. His arms shook with the effort to draw back his opponent, twisting one way and another as he struggled to find an opening to lunge forward.

"There! He's up there!" Suddenly, their opponent vanished, reappearing moments later in a shock of white light at the ceiling's peak where he began his second assault.

In Robin's limited experience, she knew that any battle could be won over through patience, mettle, and trickery, even if she was vastly outnumbered in strength and skill. All it took was one fiery arrow to set aflame an entire fleet of Valmese warships. Enemy tactics could be dissected and thrown, but here, Robin recognized that the true test of her skills lay within the cards, a gamble taken in the heat of the moment that could spell victory or certain death.

She had no time to think. A hot pulse of blue magic barreled towards Chrom with brick-heavy momentum, forcing him to the ground as he struggled to regain his bearings. He leaned on Falchion as a crutch. "He's too strong!"

Precious time was sapped away as the slaughter continued, their opponent's brutality escalating to a high note of desperation as Robin threw one last Goetia in his direction. Once Chrom was sure the tide was turned squarely in their favor, he turned to Robin with a look of relief, unaware of the torrent of dark magic vaulting his way.

"This isn't over, damn you both!"

"Watch out!" Without a moment's hesitation, Robin launched herself forward and took the hit, crumpling to the ground as the magic coursed through her body. Her vision was shot with red veins of haze that clouded her mind and stunted her senses.

"Are you alright!? That's the end of him!" Chrom scooped her into his arms and took one last look at their opponent, who fizzled away to nothingness in a cold flame of static and blue. "Thanks to you, we carried the day. We can rest easy now..."

But she was lost in a sea far away. She moved like a puppet held by invisible strings, but for some reason, she never felt more attuned to her senses in her entire life.

Her Thoron pierced his heart with the precision of a scalpel.

With a faint grunt, Chrom staggered to the ground, lips forming words she couldn't hear as her fingertips sparked, poised to loose another bolt.

And she opened her eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

When Robin finally stirred to consciousness, she gulped great lungfuls of humid afternoon air. The first thing she saw when she finally came to was a sallow face and a pair of dark-hooded eyes.

"That was quite a nasty dream you had there."

"Tharja? What the hell?" spluttered Robin. She gagged, overcome with the stench from a sprig of rosemary dangling in front of her nose. As she sat up, a small mountain of salt spilled off her chest and a parchment emblazoned with a dark glyph flew to the ground. "Where did you find this much salt?"

Unperturbed, Tharja leaned back and continued filing her nails. She held a bony hand to the lamplight to assess her handiwork. "I've never felt anything like it."

"Like what?" asked Robin hotly. "I mean, I appreciate the gesture, but I thought I asked you to stop watching me sleep."

"Your nightmare," said Tharja patiently. She kicked her feet back, skirts sweeping to the side and granting Robin a rather gratuitous view of her legs. "I was doing you a favor, you know. Absorbing it for my own purposes."

"Well, you weren't doing a very good job," muttered Robin, rubbing her temples. "I remember every bit of it."

Tharja raised a brow in mock disbelief. "Really?"

Actually, no. Familiar bits and pieces flashed in the small corners of her mind, recollections of a dark crone and a stone table and spells she's never encountered. It wasn't enough to piece into a definitive narrative, but they were grisly details nonetheless.

"Wait, do you know what I dreamed about?" asked Robin, perking up in interest. "Because I've had them before and --"

"No, but I felt it." Tharja shuddered, out of pleasure or out of fear, Robin wasn't sure. "As much as it pains me to say it, I won't be here at your beck and call every time you have a nightmare," she said, lip poking in an obvious pout. "But it can be arranged if you'd like."

"No thanks." But she paused. "Could you show me how to prevent them from happening?"

Tharja shrugged. "I can do you one better. You've got a mean potential for dark magic. I can teach you," she offered, lips curving into a coy smile. "For a price, of course. And a few toenails."

Under normal circumstances, Robin would have interpreted this as a transparent excuse for mischief, but there was something in Tharja's expression that said otherwise. It was deeply unsettling. "I've never used dark magic before."

"Fine by me," said Tharja. "All the residual aggression from your dreams - and there was a lot of it, I assure you - can be channeled through the tomes. It's not hard, I promise."

She left the implication hanging for Robin to digest: something in these recurring dreams spoke as a harbinger of worse things to come, something she could unknowingly use to hurt the people she loves.

"Is there a difference with elemental?"

"You'll have to wait and see."

Robin turned the decision over in her mind. "I'll think about it," she said. "Where's Frederick?"

Tharja made a sour face and Robin had to conceal her mirth. Fool-proof Tharja deterrent. She stood, gathering her skirts about her and she pursed her lips. "Out collecting pebbles or starting fires, I imagine. Well, the offer still stands. You know where to find me." She swept out of the tent and shortly after, Miriel took her place.

"Robin? The last shipment you placed for tomes is unforgivably tardy and I'm becoming rather concerned." Miriel paused, mistaking Robin's dazed expression as fatigue. "Please excuse me. You look ill, do you need a moment?"

In the long-run, Robin knew she was better off asking Miriel for a sleeping draught. But she had to admit that it was tempting, learning an art the other mages knew nothing of. And she did consider Tharja a genuine friend - she was quite tame once given the chance to prove her worth.

"Miriel, do you know anything about dark magic?"

"Just the essence, nothing practical," she said. She took a seat on one of the cots. "Have you been cursed?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," said Robin wearily. "I'll be there in a couple minutes."

 

* * *

 

 

Hours later, Robin sat on an empty crate before the castle’s portcullis. A hot bath did wonders to relieve her tired feet, even if it was over eighty degrees in the evening. Various Shepherds milled around, tending their wounds or tidying the last remains of battle.

In the cool evening air, Flavia’s deep baritone rang in the din. Robin’s ears perked up in interest. Chrom, Basilio and Flavia walked into the clearing overlooking the charred battlefield. Robin was hidden from view by large wooden crates, but she could still see their figures silhouetted in the dark.

“Then it’s finished. Once their messenger delivers our terms, that’s it. We put an end to this bloody business, once and for all. Ha! Beaten on their own ground, too. What a victory!”

Robin's insides churned with guilt. Everyone hailed the last battle a smashing success, but even so, something niggled in the back of her mind. None of the Shepherds died or were seriously injured, and perhaps these were the marks of a skilled tactician - but the cost was too high to merit a victory.

The entire battle was a short, miserable blur of violence and sand. And it wasn’t just this battle that wore on Robin’s conscience - it was all the ones before it, all the lives she sacrificed tallied against the ones she thinks she’s spared in the name of peace.

Especially Emmeryn's. 

It helped, in moments of grief and insecurity, to think of her relationship with Chrom as one with an expiration date - one that would end with Gangrel’s head. Each lingering look, all those sleepless nights poring over maps and tomes - all of them were goodbyes she wasn’t prepared to make. Perhaps he sensed this too and she wanted to take that leap of faith, the one that bridged the gap with his dead sister between them - but she was afraid.

"I'm sorry, Flavia. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten," said Chrom, jolting her out of her quiet reverie. "Of course, Ylisse will compensate your nation in whatever fashion -"

"Leave the politics to your tactician, Chrom," said Flavia firmly. "Reparations will fall to Plegia and I've seen their treasury - they can well afford it."  
  
“Speak of the devil, there she is!” said Basilio, alerting them to her presence. “You took a grievous wound, last I heard. Pah, you look fine to me!”  
  
Caught red-handed, Robin emerged from behind the crates and approached them with a heavy step. “It’s nothing terrible, just a flesh wound. I won’t be wearing low-cut shirts for a long time. Too bad, since it’s damned hot in Plegia --”  
  
“Robin?” Chrom rushed to her and felt her forehead. “You’re okay now?”

“Yes, Maribelle gave me a -”  
  
“Thank the gods!” He pulled her into a tight embrace, which would have been very sweet if he wasn’t wearing his regalia.  
  
“Hah! Someone give these two a room!” said Flavia. She exchanged a knowing look with Basilio, who snorted in amusement. They wandered off to give them some space, even though there was little to no privacy in the open field.  
  
“Chrom…you’re…choking…me…” Robin rasped hoarsely, trying to free herself from his grasp.  
  
“Oh, sorry!” He let go immediately and dropped his hands to his side, fiddling with Falchion’s hilt. “Uh, may I speak to you?"

"We're talking right now," she said, quirking an odd brow at him. He smiled at her like a lost puppy. That, combined with the look of deranged desperation on his face, made a very unsuitable expression.  
  
Alarm bells pealed madly in her mind. "Just say it, Chrom. No secrets between us, remember? Secrets don't make friends.”  
  
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. After a pause, he blurted, “I owe you an apology, Robin. This wasn’t your war to fight.”  
  
That wasn't what she was expecting, but she spoke once she gathered her disjointed thoughts - mostly because Chrom was pale and fidgeting nervously. “But I chose to fight it.”

He shook his head. “I've been incredibly selfish. All I’ve been thinking about is stopping Gangrel, no matter the cost. Even my own life wouldn't have been too high a price to pay.”  
  
“Chrom, that's a stupid thing to say and you know it. Ylisse needs you and I need you,” she said reproachfully. For a fleeting moment, she regretted it until she saw a smile light on his expression.

He teetered on the edge of what seemed to be a grandly rehearsed speech and total numb tongue. “Uh, well, I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about everything. And about you, Robin. It’s no exaggeration when I say that none of this - ” he paused and cast his gaze at the charred battlefield. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”  
  
“I’m your tactician. It’s my job.”  
  
“This was rather stupid of me, but I used to think that your life started when I found you in that field. Now I know that’s untrue,” he said with a rueful laugh. “You aren’t and never will be - just the tactician,” he said carefully, stressing the emphasis on those last words. “If you were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I wouldn’t -” His voice caught mid-sentence.

“Yes?” Her heart skipped.

“Gods, this is harder than I thought!” Flustered, he ran a hand through his hair and Robin suddenly knew where this was headed. She began to smile.

“You’re…a special woman. Er, - special to me, and I…I wonder if you think of me as more than your leader.”  
  
“I think you’re charming. And very dear to my heart,” she said, her faint voice barely carrying over the breeze.  
  
Chrom blinked twice in quick succession. “I never want to let you go, Robin.” He stripped off his gloves and gripped her small hand with his own. “Gods, I don’t want you to go. I know you’ve been thinking about it, you left those Valmese maps in the war tent the other night -”

A sudden chill passed through Robin’s spine and her hands went slack. Apparently, that was enough of a confirmation to satisfy him and he set his lips in a grim line.

Seemingly out of nowhere, he vocalized her deepest fears. "Emmeryn was _not_ your fault, Robin. Don't you dare think that for one moment," he said vehemently. "Your plans have led us thus far and we've won because of them, but I will not let you take the blame for something that isn’t your fault."

Perception was never Chrom's strong suit, but some hurts festered deep beneath the surface, beyond her familiar realms of reason and intuition. She knew this, that's why he understood on a visceral level. He couldn't any other way.

"Loath as I am to say it, her sacrifice helped us win the victory we've earned today. I can't say that I am equal to the task she left behind, but I _know_ I can be if you're by my side." He swallowed thickly and his eyes misted over. For the briefest moment, Chrom looked less like the noble exalt he was meant to become and more like a grieving child wearing a paper crown.

Robin looked straight into his eyes and for the first time in months, she didn’t see her insecurities reflecting back at her. Not his sister plunging to the ground, not the hundreds of men she's killed in his name, not even her scrawny legs and flat chest. Nothing but tender concern and pure, undiluted love.

“Robin? Say something, please.”

She worried her lip with indecision. In the end, she snaked her arms around his neck and pulled him close, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. “I won’t leave you,” she whispered.  
  
Actions always spoke louder than words with Chrom and he slumped into her embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around her chest.  
  
“We met under unusual circumstances, but our lives have been made from far less,” he said, his breath tickling her ear. "My heart always followed her sister, so I’m going to follow mine.”  
  
“Huh?" The solemn tone he set moments before vanished instantly. It was becoming increasingly apparent that he practiced variations of this speech while she slept and she pinched her lips in a tight line to hide her mirth.  
  
“No, Robin! I'm going to do it, I'm going to say it! I’m far from the man Ylisse deserves, let alone the gentleman who deserves your heart. You have a great capacity to love, and I want to be worthy of that, at the very least. I…well, I want you to know – “

A small nerve in her neck twitched and she suddenly felt very guilty for being amused at his expense when he was trying so hard to be earnest. She wanted to laugh, but she was certain he would have fainted on the spot.  
  
"You're the wind at my back and the sword at my side!"

He practically bellowed these words in her ear, he probably didn't even realize he was shouting loud enough for the whole camp to hear. She had to place iron-clad clamps on the hilarity threatening to burst from her chest.

"Together, my love, we'll.... we'll build a peaceful word, just you and me."

Gulping, Robin arranged her features into something resembling absolute seriousness and nodded. "Alright, then," she murmured, lips tilting into a small smile. “Okay.”

"Really!?"

With the tiniest hint of roughness, she seized him by the collar and pressed a firm kiss to his lips in response.  
  
For a brief moment, he stood stock-still, but he melted into her embrace and happily reciprocated, scooping her up into his arms and spinning her with a gale of laughter. It thrummed from his chest into her own and it felt like home.  
  
“I can’t believe it!” cried Chrom. “Robin, I’ve loved you ever since I found you in that damned field and --”

That was the final straw, the look of naked, glorious relief on his face was too much for her to bear and she tipped her head back in the first genuine laugh she had in weeks.  
  
“You’re so silly, Chrom,” she sighed. Her voice was low and husky and she drew her face closer to his. “I love you too.”

“I can’t wait to go home,” he said breathlessly. He took a velvet pouch out of his pocket and presented her with a ring bearing the crest of House Ylisse. It slid seamlessly on her finger across the ugly brand on her hand. “Gods, I just can't wait.”  
  
The brand glowed hot against his chest with her embrace.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of this written at the time of ch1's publication, but I wasn't happy with it. i wanted to write mindless fluff, but it made me uncomfortable for some reason, so drama and absolution happened. It definitely didn't help that I had Memories of the City playing in the background :p 
> 
> idk why writing Chrom is so goddamn hard. I tried like 3 variations of his confession and he still ended up sounding dopey like Ross from Friends smh


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